


Every Stupid Little Thing

by Diana_Dreams



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam Parrish is Bad at Feelings, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, M/M, POV Adam Parrish, Post-Blue Lily Lily Blue, Ronan Lynch is Bad at Feelings, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:55:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27583018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diana_Dreams/pseuds/Diana_Dreams
Summary: Courting. Jesus. It sounds like an awful joke. Parrishs don't court. They get girls knocked up and beat the shit out of the people they're supposed to love.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 14
Kudos: 240





	Every Stupid Little Thing

Adam cradles the office phone between cheek and shoulder and tries to wipe the grease off his hands. "What did you need?" 

"Do you want to drive with me and Gansey? Ronan's too busy lying around in bed, apparently."

Adam frowns. "What?"

"He isn't coming," Blue says. "And don't bother asking why, his cursing and door slamming didn't come with an explanation. I assumed you were fighting." 

Glancing swiftly towards the garage, Adam shoves the rag into the back pocket of his coveralls and retreats into the empty breakroom. He pulls the door half shut, closing him in with the claustrophobic smell of stale cigarette smoke and dust. It matches the feeling in his chest. "We're always fighting." 

"Alright, _ "  _ Blue says, slow. Maybe Adam has given more away with his tone then he'd meant to. "And on a scale of one to ten how stupid is the cause?" 

"I think you know the answer to that, Blue." Adam hates how harsh he sounds. He's a mess. He's _ always _ a mess when it comes to Ronan Lynch. "It doesn't matter." 

"Are we pretending you guys aren't, like, courting or whatever? Give me some context here."

"What the hell," Adam grits out, moving his thumb over the end call button. " _ Courting _ ?" 

"Courting," Blue confirms. "As you so helpfully pointed out to me and Gansey, it was stupid to try and hide what was going on between us."

"Ronan said that."

"And the two of you were doing your smirking bastard routine the entire time. Don't be so _painfully obvious."_

Her passable imitation of Ronan's scathing drawl depresses him, and for a second he misses Ronan so much it's stupid. They saw each other just last night, or this morning depending on your perspective. Adam had missed him as soon as Ronan had slammed his way out of Adam's apartment after a heated shouting match. Adam can't even remember what they'd fought about. Something banal, most likely, but it had spiraled into vicious jabs meant to wound. 

He doesn't remember the start, but he knows the cause. They've been fighting constantly, almost like it had been in the beginning when they'd genuinely disliked one another. But this time around, they weren't fighting because they didn't like each other, they were fighting because they  _ liked _ each other. An undercurrent of tension and longing and unspoken things has transformed his and Ronan's historically turbulent relationship into a new mess of smoldering coals. The slightest breeze is enough to light them on fire. 

"I didn't say anything," Adam mutters, several beats too late. The word  _ courting _ loops through his head. "Call Ronan and yell at him." 

"I did through his door, but he turned his damn noise on." It sounds like she's walking, the heavy front door of Monmouth shutting, then Adam hears the unmistakable sound of Ronan's raucous music. "Come over and talk to him. Get him to stop sulking in his room." 

"If he doesn't want to come I won't make him." Adam knows he hasn’t the right, but disappointment is a bitter ache inside him. He hasn’t the right. Ronan isn’t  _ his.  _

Blue lets out an explosive breath. "Work with me here, Adam. This is your friend trying to talk some sense into you." 

Adam swallows his venomous response, that she needn't bother, that talking had hardly worked out last time she'd tried it with him. This is the reason he's never acted on what he feels for Ronan. This loss of control violates the two cornerstones of Adam's life: control the things he feels and, what he can't control, learn to ignore. With Ronan he has never succeeded in either of these options. "Sorry," he says curtly. "Please, by all means, talk away." 

"I should have expected you to be an idiot about this."

"Probably. It's usually safe to assume past action is indicative of larger behavioral patterns." 

"You're  _ both _ idiots." 

"And I'll reiterate: past actions. Larger behavioral patterns."

"Just give me one good reason why you won't do it," she cuts him off, "A  _ good  _ reason."

Adam can think of several. If Blue thought a little harder, she could name several as well. They'd dated, after all, and it was his messy emotions that had scared her off. Adam knows how to want things, but not how to have them. He knows that he likes Ronan, but not how to do anything about it. He's scared he'll fuck it up. He's scared he won't. He's just  _ scared.  _

"Adam?"

"I've gotta get back to work." 

"Adam Parrish, don't you dare hang up this phone," Blue says sternly. "All I said was go talk to him." 

"I have to go," he repeats.

"You're impossible." 

"See you later." 

Before she can say goodbye in return, he hangs up. Somewhere in the garage, there's laughter underscored by country music playing over the staticky radio, muffled by the wall between. He feels removed from it in a way that would be unbearable if it wasn't so familiar. __

He rubs his gritty, exhausted eyes with the back of his wrist. Courting, Jesus. It sounds like an awful joke. Parrishs don't court. They get girls knocked up and beat the shit out of the people they're supposed to love. 

A Parrish's affections are an explosive, unpredictable thing. He thinks him and Ronan would burn each other up. Maybe they already are. 

Last night, Ronan had come over to stay the night. Typical. Routine, even. Adam had studied, Ronan had tried to teach Chainsaw how to do a loopdloop and gotten bitten several times for his efforts. But there had been a moment, just one among many that were piling up, where  __ Ronan had looked up from beside Adam's bed in the quiet of St. Agnes, his eyes greyish in the dim light. Within reach, his wicked mouth still curved in a smile, unbearably attractive, unbearably  _ obtainable _ . It would have been so easy to kiss him. Adam had  _ wanted _ to kiss him. Had wanted it so badly it had terrified him into silence, scared that the only thing he could have said in that moment was Ronan's name. And Ronan had looked back, his expression raw, the moment too real to be denied. 

So, they'd fought.

Fighting changed the rules. It planted them firmly in a realm where touching each other wasn't allowed, wasn't plausible, wasn't even possible. Calling this thing happening between him and Ronan a secret is all part of the game. Just one more layer. But there's evidence piling up. Tipping Adam's careful balance of lying to himself towards disaster. Blue knows, Gansey knows--- Ronan knows. Of course he does. They aren't fooling each other. Adam is, apparently, not fooling anyone. 

He probes this thought the way a tongue pokes at a sore wound. Curiously, but with the anticipation of pain. Adam, having long considered himself unknowable, is both warmed and horrified to find himself being looked at so clearly _.  _

The phone rings, shrill. Adam eyes it wearily as Gansey's number flashes across the screen. He presses the phone to his ear. "What."

"You're an ass, that's what." 

Despite himself, Adam huffs a laugh. God, he  _ is _ being an ass. "I've been told." 

"I'm sorry," she says reluctantly. "I wasn't trying to, I don't know, hurt you?" She says it like a question. 

He wants to say  _ you didn't, _ sharp and meant to cut, but doesnt. Instead, Adam slumps against the wall and gazes blankly through the plexiglass window that looks into the garage. It's scratched and filthy, muddling anything that exists beyond. There's a shitty metaphor in there but he's too braindead to find it. He's too braindead, full stop. Three hours of broken sleep has left him with nothing but a feeling of unreality and a headache. Fucking Ronan. God, he hopes the nuns didn't hear them arguing. "I don't know what I feel." He says finally."I don't know what to  _ do." _

Blue makes a sound like maybe she's rubbing her head or frowning. Thoughtful, but pained. "Talk to him?" She suggests, half sarcastically. 

Adam's laugh is hollow. "Ronan and I don't do heart to hearts. God. Imagine."

"So much swearing and repression," she agreeds. "Fine. Don't talk. But surely you can think of a middle ground between love declarations and sulking."

"Can I put screaming on the table?"

"No." 

"Then how about I just do what I always do." Meaning, wait for Ronan to show up in a day or two, snark at him, shove his shoulder, diffuse the tension without ever letting any air out of the real problem. 

" _ No." _

Adam slumps down at the table, elbows digging into the metal top. He rests his head in his hand. "Unless you have something actually useful to say, can I go back to work now?"

"He likes you." 

Adam's ears burn at her words. They feel warm and pleasurable and terrifying. It's never been spoken aloud before. This thing between him and Ronan. Hearing her say it slides everything strangely into focus. Like he'd been staring so hard at the lie that, once it's yanked away, the truth is utterly blinding. He closes his eyes, savoring it, trying not to push it away. "So did you and look how that turned out." 

Blues quiet for a moment. "I don't think that's very fair."

"I know," Adam says. "That doesn't make it not true." 

"You aren't the same," Blue says gently. "This isn't the same as that at all."

Intellectually, Adam knows this. His relationship with Ronan is an entirely different animal then the fleeting thing he'd had with Blue. Ronan, who knows him better than anyone, a thought both thrilling and terrifying. For the first time, sitting in the dimly lit breakroom of Boyd's talking to his ex girlfriend who should hate him but doesn't, feeling the warm rush of his heart pumping blood through his tired body, for the first time, he allows himself to consider this thing with Ronan as something he could  _ have.  _

"I was shitty to you." 

"Maybe a little." 

"Sorry," he says quietly. 

She makes a sound of dismissal. "Look, you're overcomplicating this. It's very simple. Do you want him to bail? And don't tell me 'he can do as he likes', don't  _ even." _

Adam opens his eyes. "No," he says to the empty room. "That isn't what I want."

"There you go. Then that's all you have to do. Go over there and don't let him bail."

  
  


Adam spends the next couple of hours vacillating wildly between electric fear and something giddy and hot. He keeps having to stop working, to regroup his thoughts, to stop himself from making stupid mistakes. Normally, Boyd's is his favorite job, but today none of it is interesting enough to keep his attention. 

When six finally arrives, Adam feels like a compressed spring. He puts on the only change of clothes he has in his locker, a white t-shirt and jeans ripped at the knees. There's a glowing sun sinking towards the horizon and a late October chill that makes him feel keyed up, shivering in his thin t-shirt. The star viewing starts in an hour and a half, an annual astronomers event up in the mountains that Gansey had invited them all too. It had always been the plan for Ronan and Adam to drive up together, for some ill defined but inevitable reason.

Adam unlocks his car and slides in. He puts the key in but doesn't turn it as he stares out the window at the rusty fence that wraps around one side of Boyd's property, a copse of trees pressed against it on the other side, gently rattling in the breeze.  _ Dogwood trees, _ his mind supplies, and he only knows that because Ronan told him all the names of the trees on the Barns property. It had stuck in Adam's mind because he'd been surprised Ronan would know the names of real trees when half the ones at the Barns looked like they'd been pulled from dreams. He'd been surprised Ronan would care to know something like that at all. 

He still smells of gasoline and the green soap he'd used to scrub his hands. What he needs to do is go home, take a shower, change his clothes, get a damn sweater, review Monday's homework, slow down his racing thoughts until he can think well enough to form a plan, to gain some clarity. 

He doesn't do any of that. Instead, he drives around the side streets of Henrietta until he's sure Blue and Gansey are gone, then goes straight to Monmouth and parks next to the BMW in the otherwise empty lot. 

Music rattles the tiny windows at the top of the door and he knows Ronan isn't going to hear him if he knocks, likely won’t open the door even if he does. Glancing swiftly around the empty parking lot, Adam jimmies the front door and goes upstairs into the apartment. The bass sweeps over him, a call to battle, the heartbeat of some vast, angry animal. Adam can feel the pulse of it in his throat as he crosses the main room and grasps the doorknob in his hand. He's pushed right up against the edge of his fear. Of himself, of the enormity of his feelings, both foreign and painfully true. 

Adam opens the door. 

Ronan is a pale blur as he bolts upright and slams his hand against the stereo. "Blue, I swear to God--"

The sudden quiet leaves Adam's ear ringing strangely. He gropes for something, anything to say as Ronan swings his legs over the side of the bed, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxers.

"Parrish, you mannerless fuck," Ronan's cheeks flush. "Get out of my room."

Adam has a brief impression of Ronan's lean, pale torso, the sharp line of his collarbone, before looking at Ronan's face and keeping his eyes determinedly there. "You really want to talk about manners when you barge into my apartment all the damn time?" 

"Yeah, prefaced by this thing called  _ knocking."  _

"Your music was too loud.” 

"Then maybe," Ronan growls, "you should have taken the hint that I didn't want anyone to fucking bother me." 

Despite himself, Adam prickles at his tone. “Well too fucking bad, I’m bothering you. I'm not going to let you bail on us." He means to say  _ me,  _ but the word doesn't make it out. 

Ronan is suddenly watching him with dark intensity. "You're not going to  _ let  _ me?"

Which sounds like exactly what it is-- a challenge. Adam picks up a discarded shirt from the floor, and flings it at Ronan's bare chest. "That's right. I'm not going to let you. Now shut up and put some clothes on." 

Ronan scoffs. "Fuck off, Parrish." 

Adam ignores this, finding Ronan's boot and throwing that at him too. "Quit wasting time." 

"Did you not hear me? Have you been spectacularly brain damaged? Have you been wearing your tie too tight? Fuck. Off." Ronan catches the other boot in his hand before it smacks him in the chest. He shoves it off onto the floor. "What the hell is wrong with you? _"_

Adam jerks to a halt, scowling at the leather jacket in his hand. He's breathing too hard. He's fucking this up. Anger and want and longing are a tangled mess inside of him and he can't seem to shove it back down.

Whatever Ronan sees on Adam's face, maybe all this playing across it, it makes Ronan's shoulders come down a fraction and his brow furrow in something like uncertainty. It makes Adam brave enough to quietly say, "I don't want to fight." 

Ronan's eyes narrow. "You've got a funny way of showing it."

Biting the inside of his cheek, Adam shoves aside his fear and pride and meets Ronans gaze squarely, allowing himself to be scrutinized. Hoping that, for once, Adam can manage to diffuse the fight instead of blowing it up. He isn't supposed to call a cease fire. He isn't supposed to say things quietly. He isn't supposed to be in Ronan's room.

Finally, Ronan scoffs and lifts one bare shoulder. But Adam is getting better at reading him and he can see the frayed edges of Ronan's performance. 

"Whatever, man."

"Put some clothes on." 

"I said  _ whatever. _ " Despite Ronan's snotty tone, he gets up and starts rummaging through a drawer and, for Ronan Lynch, such acquiescence is a miracle. 

Once Ronan's back is turned, Adam very calmly and quietly panics. He forces himself to breathe evenly, to think logically, but the context is overwhelming. Ronan's half darkened bedroom, the rumpled bed, their frightful aloneness. He's never seen so much of Ronan's tattoo at once before and it feels incredibly intimate. 

Ronan claims that he got it to piss off his brother, but there's obviously something private in its nature and Adam, a private thing himself, is drawn to it for that very reason. He has a strong suspicion that Ronan dreamt it. Adam has spent an embarrassing amount of time studying the parts he's familiar with, the thorns and claws above the collar of Ronan's Aglionby uniform, the feathers across his shoulders beneath his tank tops. But the full expanse of it is stark and lovely and makes Adam’s stomach clench, his fingers itch. The way the twisting black lines sweep across Ronan's pale skin, curl to hug his ribcage, the way part of it still isn't visible, hidden beneath the very edge of Ronan's underwear. 

Adam drags his eyes away. He’s never been caught checking out Ronan’s ass and he doesn’t plan on starting now. In an effort to stop looking, and to do something with his hands which have started to feel very conspicuous and awkward, Adam paces the edge of Ronan's room, examining a lamp that gives off a damp, foggy glow. Wind hisses in his dead ear as he feels the hum of a dream. 

Ronan's dream things are scattered everywhere. Adam can never help but admire them, their unabashed strangeness, just as gorgeous and terrible and wonderful as their maker. An umbrella made of broad golden palm leaves propped next to the door, a perch for Chainsaw growing lush flowers that smell like what the floral scent of detergents and shampoos can only aspire to, a clock with blinking eyes instead of numbers on Ronan's cluttered desk.

Adam picks up the clock. He turns it over in his hands, but it fails to truly grasp his attention, and he glances up just as Ronan pulls his t-shirt on. Before Adam can look away, Ronan turns. His pale cheeks are still faintly pink, but his gaze is level and intense. Adam wants to kiss him very badly.

"Having fun invading my privacy?" Ronan's tone is light, almost teasing, but Adam senses the yawning reality beneath it.

"Just returning the favor," Adam says, mimicking Ronan's casual tone. He’s been caught staring and he knows it. Maybe he wants to get caught. 

Ronan snorts and moves closer to take the clock from him. Their fingers brush, a small, innocent thing that nevertheless makes Adam’s stomach flip over. Ronan moves the big hand until it lands where the twelve should have been, and the eyes start fluttering and roving wildly. 

"What the hell is it?" 

"A koala, dumbass." 

"Don't be a shithead," Adam retorts, suppressing a smile. The eyes have stopped moving and he reaches out, nudging the big hand back to the twelve until they pop open wide. "It looks psychotic." 

Ronan tosses the clock back on his desk, his expression carefully neutral as his eyes rove over Adam’s face, a question buried somewhere beneath his posturing. Adam wonders which one of them will have the balls to ask it. "Alright, Freud. I want a seven page analysis by Monday." 

He brushes past, their shoulders knocking together. Adam, feeling a little foolish, trails after him. Ronan goes into the bathroom/laundry/kitchen, but doesn’t close the door. 

Adam loiters in the doorway as Ronan yanks open the fridge and scans its contents, aimless and habitual. 

Adam tries to make himself sound confident and says, "The viewing thing-- come, okay?"

Ronan turns to look at him, "If I say yes will you stop asking?" 

"That's generally how it works when someone answers your question." 

"If I said  _ no _ would you stop asking?" 

"Probably not," Adam admits, "but you said you would come." He swallows. "I want you to come." 

Adam doesn’t have time to catch Ronan’s expression before he’s turning sharply back towards the fridge, yanking things out, then slamming it closed. He shoves half the contents of his hands, a coke and a slice of cold pizza, into Adam's. The ferocity of his movements isn't enough to disguise that his cheeks have gone pink again. Adam is utterly charmed by the sight of it. 

Ronan  _ looks _ at him. "What were you going to do if I said no?"

"You didn't."

He lifts his chin. "I could have."

"You could have," Adam agrees, "but you didn't."

Ronan ducks his head to hide a smile and their shoulders touch again as he passes. "Should have locked my fucking door."

  
  


They drive towards the outskirts of town as the burnt orange sky bleeds into purple, listening to pulsing electronica. Adam feels like he’s spinning madly. Like he's a bleeding wound. They’ve been on drives like this numerable times before, but it’s both thrillingly new and familiar all at once. He's never admitted to it, but he loves the way Ronan drives, the BMW eating up the road. The feel of the leather seats has even made it into his dreams, the ones where sleep actually feels like rest, where he finally allows himself the things he needs.

There’s a flurry of gravel and stressed suspension as Ronan pulls off the road into a gas station. He bypasses the actual gas because the BMW doesn’t need it and parks in front of the storefront instead. His hands flex on the steering wheel, knuckles pale and crisscrossed with even paler scars. His usual manic energy is edging into something that looks a whole hell of a lot like anxiety. When he turns off the engine, the music cuts off, and only serves to emphasize how quiet Ronan has been on the drive. Usually he'd have some snarky comment or twelve, but now he's just-- quiet. 

Adam doesn’t know what to do with a Ronan gone quiet any more than he knows what to do with himself. This is his fault, he knows. He'd left Boyd's with the intention of being candid, but Adam isn't built for it. Neither of them are. He wonders if they could learn. He wonders what he's supposed to be doing with his hands. He wonders what Ronan would do if he leaned across the center console and kissed him. You couldn't get any more candid than that. 

Ronan's phone vibrates where it’s been stuck unceremoniously in the cupholder, but Ronan doesn’t even spare it a glance. 

"Probably Gansey," Adam offers as the vibrating stops.

Ronan doesn't respond to this incredibly asinine thing Adam's said, just gives his hands one more vicious twist on the steering wheel, then turns to face Adam fully. "I'm getting a drink. Tell me what you want." 

"I-- nothing," Adam says, thrown off balance by Ronan's sudden uncoiling. "I don't want anything." He thinks he has ten dollars in his wallet, tops. 

"Tell me what you want," Ronan growls, "Or I'll dump twenty sugars in your coffee--" 

"I don't want coffee," Adam bites out. The phone is vibrating again. 

"--and that nasty fake flavoring I know you hate. In a condiment cup, so you can go on being a moody little shit--" 

" _ I'm _ moody? Which one of us is freaking out for no fucking reason?"

"You," Ronan snaps. 

Adam gets the feeling they aren't talking about coffee anymore, if they ever had been. The realization shoves all the rising irritation neatly from his body. He gropes for words, a response, the  _ truth,  _ but comes up dry. It's very possible he's already used up all his capacity to be vulnerable for the day.

Before he can think of something to say, Ronan huffs crossly and covers Adam's mouth with his hand. "Shut up." 

His palm is warm and the shock of sensation coupled with an action Adam had not predicted causes his heart to pound so hard and sudden that the rush of blood makes him light headed. His mind is still empty. 

Ronan closes his eyes, visibly reigning himself in. His eyelashes hum against his skin. "I don't want to fight either," he says in a low voice, tight, like the words cost him. 

Affection rushes through Adam, burning away his stupid fear. He tugs Ronan's hand away and presses down gently, gratified to feel the answering pulse heaving beneath his fingertips. "Two sugars." 

Ronan freezes, then twists his hand away, swallowing. "Ten," he says, a beat late, "For being so fucking difficult about it." 

"If anyone's difficult it's you," Adam retorts, glad to argue about something so stupid. He snatches up the phone. "Jesus Christ,  _ I'll  _ answer it." 

Ronan snickers like this is what he's wanted all along and Adam almost throws the phone at his smirk. 

"Are you guys coming or what?" Blue says. 

"Or what," Adam mutters. He glances sidelong at Ronan, who’s leaning back in his seat and chewing at his wrist bands, so carefully disinterested Adam knows he’s faking. "Yes, we're coming," he says in a louder voice. "Forty minutes, maybe?" He looks at Ronan for confirmation, but the other boy only gives a disinterested shrug. 

"Did you-- oh,  _ fine _ . Gansey wants to talk to Ronan." 

Handing over the phone involves a silent exchange of dirty looks, Ronan's hand briefly overlapping Adam's. "Dick.” Scowling at whatever Gansey replies, he says, "Shut up." 

Ronan stares out the window as Gansey talks, Adam just able to make out the sound of his excited voice if not the words. 

"I don't know, man. I'm not talking about this now." A pause to listen, dark brows furrowing. "Jesus Mary, are you guys really this bored?" He turns, catches Adam looking and pulls a face, so Adam pulls one back. 

"Funny," he says dryly to Gansey. "Absolutely fucking hilarious." Pause. "Yeah, well tell Sargent she’s in deep shit." He hangs up and tosses the phone back into the cupholder. 

The silence hangs for a moment. Adam can tell that Ronan's still agitated, but he's doing a better job at hiding it now. Adam doesn't want him to hide it, he doesn't want him to feel agitated at all. 

"He'll meet us in the parking lot," Ronan says in a low voice, then gets out and slams the door behind him. The Ronan Lynch solution for ending unwanted conversation. 

"Shit," Adam mutters, as Ronan stalks towards the gas station. 

_ What do you want, Adam? _

Ronan. He wants Ronan. It does not matter that his mind insists Ronan is not a possession, and certainly not  _ Adam Parrish's _ . He wants Ronan the way he wants to go to college, to someday  _ be something.  _ A feeling tinged with so much hope it's almost unbearable, but that everyday, in stops and starts and increments, feels a little more real. 

Adam reaches for the abandoned phone. His heart pounds as it rings, glancing compulsively towards the store, where he sees Ronan's shaved head moving down the aisle. 

"Adam?" 

"Blue," Adam says in a rush. "We're not going to come." 

Blue's quiet for a moment. "For good reasons or bad reasons?"

"Hopefully good," Adam runs a hand roughly through his hair. "Wish me luck, I guess." 

"He likes you." 

Adam immediately flushes. "God, quit  _ saying _ that." 

"You like him," she sounds smug, certain, Gansey's voice bright in the background, then she hangs up.

He closes his eyes for several long minutes. Cabeswater whispers in his left ear, questioning, but he brushes it aside. The enormous thing in his chest, the thing he feels for Ronan, terrifies him, but he doesn't want it to. He doesn't want to turn away just because some part of the trailer still echoes inside of him, the screaming, the unchecked anger, the need to hold himself apart. That isn't here or now. He's left the trailer behind and his current reality is this: he likes Ronan Lynch and Ronan Lynch likes him. 

Adam realizes he’s rubbing his palm back and forth across his lips, remembering the feel of Ronan's warm skin, trying to recreate the sensation, and promptly stops.

With a sharp cry, Chainsaw lands on the side mirror and jolts him from his thoughts. She peers in at him with first one eye, then the other, her feathered black head cocking in a manner that, had she been a human, he would have named reproach. She pecks sharply at the glass. 

Adam flushes, feeling ridiculously caught out. He rolls down the window and she hops onto his knee instead. The cold raises goosebumps on his arms. "I don't need shit from a bird."

"Kerah," she croaks in response, and uses her beak to pull on a loose thread on the knee of his jeans.

Adam bounces his leg, dislodging her, though she rights herself with a painful grip of talons. "Ow! That hurts," he tells her sternly. 

"Kerah!" She says, louder, as Ronan gets in the car, accompanied by the rich, bitter smell of coffee.

He drops a plastic bag between Adam's feet and hands over a paper coffee cup, it's warmth sinking into Adam's hand. Ronan drains the last of an energy drink and sticks it in the cupholder on top of his phone. "Come on, brat, move." She gives Ronan the same look of reproach she'd given Adam, and jumps to Adam's other knee, just as contrary as her maker, but her hold is gentle. 

"Your bird is a menace."

Ronan rolls his eyes. "Don't be a baby." Lashes low, he leans over the center console to examine the tiny scratch marks on Adam's left knee. Briefly, his shoulder brushes Adam's. He smells like Cabeswater, mist and moss, but beneath that, something more uniquely Ronan, something that makes heat pool in Adam's stomach and he has to fight the urge to squirm. 

"Naughty," Ronan says to the raven. 

Chainsaw clacks her beak back at him in response, which makes Ronan laugh and rub his thumb over her head. He unwraps a slim jim and feeds her a piece which she eats with an air of disdain. "I'm not bribing you forever, you little punk." He glances sidelong at Adam. "She's mad at me. Didn't appreciate my new speakers."

Wind swoops in through the still open window and gets under Adam's shirt. He shivers again, half from the cold and half at Ronan's proximity. He rolls up the window and runs his hand over Chainsaw's back, before folding his free hand around her body as Ronan reverses sharply and pulls back onto the highway. 

The tether Ronan generally uses to keep her from flying around the car is buried somewhere in the seat beneath him, but when she's in the car with them Adam always holds her anyway. There's something fiercely satisfying about holding her, when he knows she wouldn't let anyone else. It feels like trust, and reminds Adam starkly that she, a mistrustful, mercurial thing, is Ronan's dream creation. A part of him. He thinks about confessing this to Ronan.  _ I love that your dreams know me, _ and smiles, feeling hot all over at the thought. "You dreamed them." 

"Yeah." The dashboard lights illuminate Ronan's soft, complicated expression as he glances at Adam's hand around the raven. 

Adam follows the motion of Ronan's throat as he swallows and thrills at the dawning realization that he makes Ronan just as nervous as Ronan makes him. The pleasure/terror of it makes it hard to speak. He takes a sip of his coffee, trying to wash away the feeling, unsurprised but helplessly pleased to find the coffee exactly as he likes it. "Is that what you were doing?" He says, missing casual by approximately ten thousand miles. 

Ronan lifts his brows. 

"When I came over. Were you dreaming?"

"If you mean when you  _ broke in _ , then no. I wasn't." 

"I didn't break in," Adam says. "A baby could open that door." 

"Babies can't open doors." 

"Fine. A very small child. Blue. Whatever."

Ronan grins and Adam's heart flutters. It transforms his face from a sullenly handsome boy to something  _ more _ . "I'm telling her you said that."

"I called and told them we aren't coming." Adam winces. He's had the words qued up too long and they come spilling out. 

Ronan frowns. "What?"

Adam gulps his coffee, burns his throat. "You heard me." 

"Yeah, I fucking heard you." Ronan shifts furiously, "Clarify." 

"What's there to clarify? Have  _ you  _ been wearing your tie too tight?" Which makes very little sense. But no matter how much Adam wants to just say it, let his feelings spill out messy and molten and thunderously real, it's hard to undo a lifetime of suppression. But for this impossible boy, he's really fucking trying. 

"Then what are we doing?" Ronan snaps out, his words precise and hard edged. It doesn't sound like a question so much as an accusation. 

His voice is at such stark contrast to the softness of just moments before. Ronan leaning into his space to look at the cut on Adam's knee, their banal argument over coffee. Ronan's hand against his lips.

When Adam doesn't answer, Ronan shoves him, not exactly gently, but not enough to jostle Adam's coffee or Chainsaw, though she squawks at him dramatically anyway, and pulls herself up to Adam's shoulder.

There's no more streetlights this far out of Henrietta, and everything around them is dark. Ronan's energy is finally spilling out of whatever control he's had on himself, messy and scorching, his hands wringing at the steering wheel and his foot pressing harder and harder into the gas pedal until they're going 80, 90. "If this is your idea of playing it coy," he snaps, "You can fucking knock if off."

Adam's heart roars in his ears. He puts down his coffee so that he can shove Ronan back. " _ I'm _ playing coy? You bailed on our plans because of some stupid fight. You were mad at me without even telling me the reason. You fucking  _ left. _ All the shit you--" Gave me did for me made me feel made me want, "I can't read your damn mind."

Ronan sneers. "Like you're so transparent. Or did you barge into my room because you have just  _ that _ big of a hard on for astronomy?"

Adam flushes, equally embarrassed at the words  _ hard on _ and being called out. "I'm not," he bites out. 

"Hard for astronomy?"

"You know what I mean."

"I can't read your damn mind," Ronan says mockingly, mangling Adam's accent. 

"Don't be such a fucking asshole, Ronan. This isn't  _ easy _ for me!" 

"'This?'" Ronan says furiously, "You don't even know what 'this' is."

A ringing silence punctuates Ronan's words. Adam doesn't know what to say. The truth waits just outside the walls they've built up against it. The moment feels enormous and he suddenly can't breathe inside the car. "Pull over."

Immediately, Ronan hauls the steering wheel sideways, Adam grabbing for the strap above his head, and they pull off onto a gravely side road. A universe of dust flies up around the car, and Adam's heart is racing, racing, racing, when suddenly they jerk to a stop. Adam throws himself out, sucking in cold air, Chainsaw bursting into the sky. Once his feet are on solid ground, Adam tells himself to get a grip and gently shuts the door. 

Chainsaw circles once, calling abuse, before winging off into the deep, endless black sky. Probably to look for something more satisfying then a slim jim.

It's at least ten degrees colder outside of the car, and Adam shoves his hands under his arms as goosebumps erupt along his bare skin. He can't  _ think. _ Dark, rolling hills stretch all the way to the base of the mountains in the distance. They've parked next to a scraggle of trees, nothing around for miles and miles. The air smells alive. Everything hushed and raw. And far, far, far above them, the stars glint and burn.

Every part of Adam's body is tuned to Ronan as he gets out of the car, as the door shuts with a heavy  _ thud _ , like their connected by an electrical current. Ronan makes his way closer, but doesn't say anything. His boots crunch in the dry, flattened grass and he's breathing slow and even. 

Once he's right next to Adam, he stops and pushes a hoodie against Adam's chest. The tips of his fingers brush Adam's collarbone, contact, and it feels like a jolt of lightning. 

There's a wordless exchange as Adam's accepts the hoodie and pulls it on. It's warm, soft from use and laundering. Adam has seen him wearing it a hundred times. It smells like Ronan.

Releasing a shaky breath, Adam looks up, and his mouth goes sand-dry at the look on the other boy's face. Ronan's angular and handsome in the moon and starlight, all blue highlights off his jacket and black shadows at the hollow of his throat. Adam wills his voice not to crack as he zips up the hoodie and spreads his arms at his sides. "Satisfied?" 

Ronan shrugs, the easy movement not quite matching his raw expression, the way his eyes roam over Adam's face, across his chest, as heavy as a physical touch. "Only that you won't die of hyperthermia." 

"It's the middle of fall in Virginia."

Ronan rolls his eyes. "Whatever." He reaches out and plucks lightly at the collar of Adam's thin t-shirt, so disarmingly gentle that Adam's heart stutters, then roars to life.

Adam catches his hand before he can pull it away, feeling so incredibly grateful for this boy, who has never done anything but try to meet Adam where he stands, even when it wasn't as close as either of them wanted. He never pushed farther then Adam was ready to go. "I'm sorry." 

Ronan's mouth twists. His whole body has gone rigid, but he doesn't pull away this time. "I don't need you to be  _ sorry."  _ He sounds disgusted by the very thought as he collapses next to Adam so that they're leaning side by side against the car, shoulders pressed snuggly together, their hands still connected. 

Carefully, Adam laces their fingers together. Ronan's palm is warm and he can feel his pulse at his wrist, a fast thump thump thump. They've never touched so deliberately before, without pretense, and as soon as they settle against each other, Adam wants to touch him  _ more.  _ This press of their bodies sends a restlessness surging through him and he struggles to stay still. "Guess it was stupid to think we wouldn't fight," Adam says, embarrassed at how breathless he sounds. 

Ronan smirks, his eyes on the sky. "You are kind of an idiot." 

When Adam elbows him, Ronan laughs, a low, warm sound. 

"Ass." Adam can't help the way it sounds, the way he's staring, maybe a little lovestruck. But he isn't sure he's ever heard Ronsn laugh that way, and it makes him feel something nameless and shapeless and  _ raw,  _ that he could pull that sound out of this impossible, often angry or miserable, boy. Feeling like he's riding on the edge of a cliff, Adam releases Ronan's hand and slides his arm around his shoulders instead. It's a little awkward, since Ronan is a couple inches taller, until Ronan shifts his stance to accommodate, curling his own arm around Adam's waist. 

Ronan points towards the mountains, "There's Castor and Pollux."

Adam makes a questioning, distracted noise. He's impressed that Ronan's managed to sound so casual, but he doesn't quite trust himself to match it. 

"Polaris, Cesephus, Cassiopeia-- you don't know shit about astronomy, do you?" Ronan says, tracing a w shape through the sky. 

Adam jostles him, "Shush." 

"Such a  _ liar,"  _ Ronan says, dropping his hand with a shit eating grin. "And here you dragged me all the way out here to stargaze--"

"There's the large dipper," Adam says sarcastically, gesturing.  _ I didn't drag you out here to stargaze.  _

As predicted, Ronan scoffs. " _ Large dipper _ , what the hell Parrish."

He goes to lift his hand again, presumably to school Adam on astronomy, which shouldn't be so attractive yet decidedly is, which should be surprising but decidedly isn't. Adam tightens his arm to stop him, fingers curling into the firm curve of Ronan's bicep. "I like you." As soon as the words escape Adam's mouth, a part of him longs to take them back, to alter them so they don't leave him feeling so stupid and awkward and naked. But he doesn't want to play games, he doesn't want to be coy, so he tells that part to fuck off. 

It was worth it, though, this moment of vulnerability, just to see the way Ronan immediately flushes, his lips parting, utterly caught off guard, his casual facade shattering. 

"Gay," Ronan rasps. 

Adam smiles, tries not to, and smiles again. "You  _ like _ me--" 

Ronan turns his head and kisses him, a hard press of lips. The heat of it sweeps through Adam's body, an all consuming force he feels in his fingers, in his stomach, throbbing between his legs. Adam's breath hitches. Ronan's leather jacket is smooth and cool against the palm of his hand as he drags it up Ronan's bicep, across his shoulder, hooks his elbow around the back of Ronan's neck to bring him closer. Ronan's ribcage expands against his own when he gives a shuddering exhale.

When Ronan gently touches his cheek, Adam turns into the warmth of his body. He's burning up. Cracked open on the inside and this tidal wave of want and heat and yearning is the messy culmination of everything he's ever wanted. He breaks away, gasping. "Jesus Christ." 

"Heathen," Ronan pants back, uncurling his arm from around Adam's waist, straightening up and turning them both so Adam's pressed between him and the car.

Immediately, Adam grasps onto Ronan's hips, the touch and lean of Ronan's body the only things holding him to the surface of the planet. Ronan tips Adam's face up in his hands and kisses him again, light, lingering, his lips slightly parted.

Adam has imagined this moment so many times, in different contexts and moods, but it didn't prepare him for the reality. The air is cold in the places their bodies don't touch. Under his hands, Ronan is warm and real and Adam tilts his head and slides his tongue across Ronan's bottom lip. Ronan shudders and parts his lips, the inside of his mouth hot and wet. Adam's body is overloaded by sensation, his mind a racing whirlpool of touch touch touch.

They kiss slowly, making out against the side of Ronan's BMW in the middle of the Virginia countryside. Adam has kissed a couple girls before, but this was something wholly different then those awkward pecks. He's never felt like he wanted to climb into someone's skin before or would enjoy having another person touch him like they'll drown if they don't. The kiss is a wonderful thing of hands and lips, of the way they touch each other, both careful and rough all at once. 

The blood is pumping hot through Adam's veins when he feels along the firm length of muscle flexing down Ronan's sides, the roughness of his jeans against Adam's palms, the hard line of Ronan's hipbones under his thumbs. Ronan shudders and presses into the touch, then bites down on Adam's lip in a lovely surge of pleasure/pain. It makes Adam's brain feel white hot with want, makes him want to grind his hips into Ronan's where he can feel the hard edge of his erection digging into his thigh. He wishes fervently that they'd just stayed in Ronan's room, where there was a very useful horizontal surface. For one blinding hot second, Adam considers groping for the door handle and dragging them both down onto the backseat like some high school cliche. Everything feels so enormous that Adam doesn't do any of that, is not capable of doing absolutely anything but clutch Ronan harder, kiss him deeper. 

Wanting to feel skin, Adam burrows under Ronan's shirt to press his hands against the small of his back. 

Immediately, Ronan twists, swearing. "Your hands are fucking freezing." When Adam laughs and slides his hands up higher Ronan grabs his arms to hold him still. "Don't be an ass." 

Adam moves his hands back down and gives his hips one more squeeze, relishing the sensation of having Ronan's skin against his, then let's him go to push them both upright. He feels startlingly alive. And though he still wants Ronan so bad he briefly thinks, again, of pressing Ronan against the backseat of his own car, the edge has worn off. He mostly just wants Ronan to keep looking at him like he wants all the same things. They'll have to save the backseat for another time. "Come on."

Ronan lifts a brow, "Where are you dragging me now?" 

"Somewhere warm," Adam says, blushing, but keeping his gaze steady. He can't help but move in close again, just to be in Ronan's space, graze his mouth against one sharp cheekbone. "Come, okay?"

In response, Ronan turns his head to touch their lips together and presses his keys into Adam's hand. "Drive."

  
  


As Adam takes them back to Henrietta, he feels like he's operating on some level outside of time. Where every moment unspools gloriously slow and liquid smooth. They jostle one another as they drive, making Chainsaw croak at them from where she's perched on Ronan's knee. He lobs candy bars at Adams head out of the gas station bag, complains Adam drives like an old woman and presses a hand down on his thigh to encourage him to drive faster. He laughs, wild and beautiful, when Adam complies, until they're darting in and out of the dark, the music up just loud enough they don't really talk, just exist in this moment so utterly rooted in the here and now. 

They hadn't made it very far out of town, but Ronan stretches out the drive by directing Adam to side streets and empty roads, whooping when Adam speeds, doing it just to see Ronan smile. They get McDonalds and throw straw wrappers at each other. It's on the tip of Adam's tongue to call it a  _ date _ , but he lets the thought rest. And even though every second in the car ratchets up the intensity of Adam's impatient need to not have the center console between them, just being with Ronan this way is momentarily enough. That, when the impulse strikes, he can reach across and touch Ronan's hand, feel Ronan's lingering touch on his thigh. 

It's both familiar and not. Still definitively  _ them,  _ but with the added bonus that Adam doesn't have to want. He gets to  _ have.  _

When they finally arrive at St. Agnes, it's a bit past ten o'clock and he's out of the car instantly, tossing Ronan his keys and taking his own out of his pocket. Adam gets to the door and has to fiddle with the key to line it up just right, the lock is ancient, and Ronan leans his shoulder against the building, Chainsaw pecking at his feet, his gaze heavy on Adam's face. 

"You look like you're about to pass out," he observes. 

Adam shrugs. He  _ is _ tired, but he barely feels it. Probably will as soon as he lays down. Mostly, he feels warm and drowsy from the pleasure of being touched. The image of Ronan in his bed makes him smile and he pushes open the door. He eyes the dark circles under Ronan's eyes. He hadn't slept either. "Some asshole disrupted my sleep."

"What a dick," Ronan agrees. 

He follows up the stairs, Adam hyper aware of him at his back, until he's unlocking his apartment door and they're inside. 

He flicks on his side lamp, flooding the room in low, warm light and soft shadows that deepen at the sharp peaks of the ceiling. It's quiet as Adam toes off his shoes and shrugs out of Ronan's hoody, draping it over his desk chair. Chainsaw glides over and settles on top of one of the rafters. He glances at Ronan sidelong to see him closing and locking the door. Swallowing, Adam finishes putting his things away as though this was any other day, any other sleep over. But it's not. They both know it's not and that knowledge is a heady thing. 

He looks at Ronan again. He's taken his jacket off and sat down on the edge of Adam's bed. It should feel awkward, and maybe it is a little. But mostly Adam feels too caught up in that look on Ronan's face. He looks just as overwhelmed as Adam feels. 

Adam rubs a tired hand over his hair. "Will you stay this time?" 

Ronan shrugs, his expression smoothing over and he leans down to untie his boots. "Sure." 

" _ Sure,"  _ Adam mocks. 

Ronan looks up at him through his lashes as he tugs on his laces. "So," he says, and his feigned casual tone sets Adam immediately on alert. "What exactly did Sargent say to you?" 

"What makes you think she said anything?" Adam turns around to pull a clean t-shirt and sweats out of his drawer. He still smells a bit like gasoline, but the thought of taking a shower sounds too difficult. If he had to be naked so near Ronan he thinks he might combust, anyways.

Ronan scoffs. "Please, Adam. She yelled at me too." 

He hears the twin  _ thunk thunk  _ as Ronan's boots hit the wooden floor, a rustle as he takes something else off or maybe moves back on the bed. "What did she say to  _ you?" _

"I asked you first."

Typical. Snorting, Adam considers Ronan's question as he goes into the bathroom, changes and brushes his teeth, then comes back out. Ronan's lying facedown on the bed. He's barefoot in jeans and a black t-shirt, his clothes a dark contrast against Adam's blue blanket. His t-shirt has ridden up a little at the small of his back, a tantalizing glimpse of black lines and pale skin. "That you make me stupid," he says finally. 

Ronan props his head up on one hand, watching Adam back. "What else?" 

Adam considers telling Ronan that she called what they're doing  _ courting,  _ but can't force the words out.  _ " _ That both of us are stupid." 

"Insulting." Ronan flops back down, eyes closed. 

"Accurate," Adam corrects. He eyes the length of Ronan's body taking up most of the bed, and, realizing he's standing there, frozen, kneels down on the mattress to shove at Ronan's shoulder. "I want to go to sleep." 

Ronan opens his eyes, obviously drowsy, and says, "I'm not tired." 

"I thought you didn't lie." Adam tugs on the blanket trapped under Ronan's body.

When Ronan doesn't move, he gives the blanket a pointed yank. 

Ronan heaves a dramatic sigh and rolls off the bed, heading to the bathroom. 

"I left shorts on the dresser," Adam tells him. 

Ronan snatches them up and waves a hand over his shoulder, then shuts the door behind him. The silence is a little ringing. It's almost domestic, is what it is. The routine of it, like everything's normal. Ronan borrowing his clothes on the nights he actually cares to change out of his jeans, the toothbrush he has stashed in Adam's bathroom, the easy banter. 

Adam slides under the covers and does not toss his extra pillow and blanket onto the rug by his bed as he normally would. It's a little chilly now that he's just wearing loose shorts, the sheets cool, so he's glad for the extras. He looks at Ronan's black hoodie on his desk chair, his boots lined up neatly next to Adam's sneakers by the door, the laces tucked in, and smiles, laying down. Ronan comes out and turns off the lamp. Adam can't make his expression out in the dim light but, very deliberately, he scoots over to make room in the bed. He doesn't want to be mistaken. 

Thankfully, Ronan doesn't question or tease the way Adam half thought he would, just lays down so that they're facing each other. The beds only a twin, and definitely not designed to hold two lanky boys, but Adam likes it. Likes how close the bed makes Ronan lie. He radiates heat and Adam lifts the blanket to wrap around them both until they're encased in a warm cocoon. 

"Are your hands still freezing?" Ronan says in a low voice. 

In response, Adam touches his palm to Ronan's neck. As Ronan watches him with heavy lidded eyes, Adam slides his fingers over the edges of Ronan's tattoo, almost imagining he can feel the edges, the hum of a dream. "Are they?" Adam asks, pausing. 

"Not quite the ice cicles you stuck up my shirt earlier," Ronan grumbles, but his eyes are bright. His annoyance is nothing but a smokescreen. His expression is as relaxed and open as Adam's ever seen it. 

"Good." Adam tugs on Ronan's neck gently. "Come here, Lynch." 

Ronan huffs a laugh, "You're so bossy," but does so, the bare skin of his legs sliding against Adam's. He suddenly grins. "All this just to get me in your bed?" He laughs when Adam flushes, delighted by Adam's embarrassment. He lifts his hand and strokes a finger across Adam's ear where it's bright red, smirking, and Adam jerks his head away. "Aw, don't be mad."

Adam shoves at his chest. "Then don't say shit like that." 

It only makes Ronan laugh harder and shove him back. They engage in a brief, rolling scuffle and don't succeed in doing anything but feeling each other up. 

"You're such an  _ asshole,"  _ Adam gasps, grinning so hard his face hurts. 

Ronan only gets out the word  _ payback, _ before Adam's kissing him. A hard press of lips, his patience finally snapping. Ronan responds immediately, wrapping an arm around Adam's waist and tangling their legs together. 

It feels embarrassingly perfect, Adam thinks idly, most of his attention taken up by the way Ronan kisses, utterly lacking in hesitation. He isn't surprised by the intensity of it, Ronan's intense about everything, but he's swept up by it anyway. The way Ronan's fingers stroke his side, the hard press of his lips, the hot slide of his tongue as he kisses Adam deeper and Adam licks into his mouth. 

Ronan groans at the contact, his hand sliding lower on Adam's back. Adam touches his collarbone, his neck, trying to be gentle when all he really wants is to suck bruises into Ronan's skin, to heave Ronan's body over him like a warm blanket. It's impossible to exercise any self control at all when Ronan grasps Adam's hip in his warm hand, unabashedly eager, when he says  _ Adam _ in a low, hoarse voice like the word is being dragged out of his body by sheer force. It makes him feel alive in a way that's almost painful, being this present, when he spends so much time caught up in his head. But there's no room for that when Ronan's  _ here _ . 

Unthinking, Adam rolls back, tugging Ronan with him, gratified when he follows easily. When Ronan's weight settles on him, his hips press down in a way that creates delirious friction. 

Ronan plants his elbow on the bed and kisses Adam's jaw, his collarbone, where his shoulder meets his neck. Then he pauses, shuddering and holding himself still. "Do you want to stop?" 

Adam, feeling that he's given absolutely no indication that he wants to stop, takes Ronan's words for the chivalry they are, and drags his palms over the smooth, satiny material of the borrowed shorts covering Ronan's hips. Adam's cock throbs so hard he can't think or speak or pull in a full breath. 

"No?" Ronan prompts, still holding himself still. "I need you to say it." 

"Fucking  _ no,"  _ Adam chokes out. "I don't want to stop, you asshole."

Grinning, probably pleased he's driven Adam to so much swearing, Ronan kisses him, just this side of savage, just this side of out of control. Adam gasps again, utterly punched out, when Ronan abandons control completely and grinds their hips together, their cocks touching through the layers of their clothing. Adam gets his hands under the back of Ronan's shirt, sliding up his spine and Ronan abandons their kiss to sucks against the side of Adam's neck, then bites down suddenly. 

Adam jerks, arching his neck to give Ronan better access, and tangles their legs together tighter, making it easier to push up against him. 

"Fuck," Ronan swears, panting. He's so beautiful, tensed up, on edge, touching Adam just as desperately as Adam touches him. Like he thinks it's a dream. Like he thinks he has to snatch as much as he can before it all disappears. 

Adam laughs, breathless, and guides Ronan's hips in a slow roll against his own. Ronan lifts his head, his gaze wide and electric blue, and kisses Adam again, his teeth sharp against Adam's bottom lip. 

When Adam's hands slide lower, across Ronan's ass, he remembers his black boxers and momentarily regrets letting him borrow shorts. But it's a fleeting thought when Ronan buries his face against Adam's neck and grabs the back of Adam's thigh in a firm, hot grip and grinds their hips together, hard and deliberate. Adam cries out, arching up into him. 

It feels like everything until that moment has happened in slow motion, and suddenly time is in ultra speed as they move against each other and can't stop, as Adam feels heat spreading to every part of his body. As his mind goes blissfully empty of everything but Ronan Ronan Ronan. 

They try to kiss but don't succeed in anything besides a messy slide of lips, panting against each other's mouths.

Ronan shudders, his muscles clenching up under Adam's hands. He gasps out _fuck_ like it's a holy word and the feel of his dick pulsing makes Adam dig his nails into his hips, savoring the sounds it pulls out of Ronan's mouth. Pleasure curls through Adam's body like a cresting wave. Rising higher higher higher, crashing through every cell that comprises Adam Parrish. 

Still shuddering with aftershocks, they lay still for a long moment, Ronan holding Adam tightly as they both pant, coming down off a high. The warm, overwhelming something he feels for Ronan surges ten fold, but he doesn't name it or try to pick it apart. Adam just lays there, holding Ronan just as tightly as Ronan's holding him, just letting himself feel it. 

After a few minutes or an eternity, Ronan tips them both onto their sides, heads, one dark one light, resting on the same pillow. He looks at Adam without speaking and strokes a hand through his hair, so impossibly gentle. 

"Now I really need a shower," Adam says drowsily. He pauses. "Shit, you have to go to  _ church  _ in the morning."

Ronan laughs, still a little breathless. "Good, time to repent." Lazily, he kisses Adam again, a lingering press of lips."I'll drive home early." When Adam shivers, Ronan reaches down and pulls the blanket back up around them from where they'd kicked it off. 

There's a silent negotiation of limbs and bodies as they adjust to a more comfortable position. Adam slides his arm under Ronan's head so that they fit easily together side by side. When Adam starts stroking his spine, Ronan goes boneless and warm under his hands, like a giant cat. Adam thinks he's putting them both to sleep. 

Rarely had Adam allowed himself to imagine what this would be like. It's been his guilty pleasure for a long time, something to think about on the nights Ronan doesn't come-- because never,  _ ever _ when Ronan is actually there did Adam let himself want this. To truly consider or wish or wonder that it could make him feel this happy. Just being around Ronan makes him feel like he's walking on solid ground after a lifetime of uncertain footsteps and feeling like he's shoving his way through water. Everything always feels hard. But not with Ronan. They fight and fling barbs and uglyness at each other. No one can make Adam go from 0-60 mad the way Ronan can. And he knows the reverse is the same. They have each other's numbers and are at turns delighted and viciously satisfied to keep dialing again and again and again. 

Adam doesn't really understand why Ronan makes him feel this way. God knows he's spent precious sleep hours and brain space trying to figure it out. Ronan is kind and angry and lovely and razor sharp. He is a kaleidoscope of a boy, an accumulation of so many seemingly disparate parts. There is no why, just a series of stupid little things that have led them here. There doesn't  _ need _ to be a why or a how or an answer. There's only this: Adam wants him. Has never wanted anything the way he wants Ronan Lynch right here, warm and close, for as long as he's allowed. 

"I can hear you thinking," Ronan whispers, one eye opening. 

Adam smiles and mouths the words back at him, it's hard because he can't stop smiling. 

"Dick," Ronan snorts and settles back down, his fingers slipping under Adam's t-shirt to rest against his bare ribcage. Adam closes his eyes and starts stroking Ronan's spine again and his skin under Adam's hands is as warm and alive as a heart. 

  
  
  
  



End file.
